


And Yet

by YassHomo



Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Coming In Pants, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pining, Porn With Plot, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-27 05:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YassHomo/pseuds/YassHomo
Summary: Afterwards, Fontaine never stays.





	And Yet

Afterwards, Fontaine never stays. 

 

 

The first time it happened was roughly a month ago. He was avoiding capture as adeptly as possible, but Rapture was a glass arena, and he had only so long before the glass began to crack. His final fall from grace was with far less ceremony than expected. After so long running, fighting, _surviving_ , to think that he would be knocked unconscious so easily was unimaginable.

That night, he woke up with his wounds stitched and a hand softly raking through his hair.

Instinctively, Jack shifted closer, pressing into the warmth, a headache slowly making itself known. He didn't open his eyes, didn't know where he was, but he didn't care. He felt _safe,_ for the first time in a year.

His movements, however, brought an unwanted harshness; the hand in his hair tightened painfully, causing Jack to open his eyes sharply. When he saw who it was - and something in Jack's heart _stuttered_ , a part he hated and loathed and pushed down as far as it could go, because Fontaine's kindness when acting as Atlas was false.

"So, you've finally joined the living, kid?" Fontaine asked, tilting Jack's chin up so that Jack could look nowhere else but him. Distantly, Jack noted the different tones of blue in his eyes, the soft curves of his lips, before feeling repulsed with himself. Damn it, Fontaine was a murderer, a bastard, someone who Jack should never associate the cold nights with a soothing voice over the radio telling him stories, distracting him from the unfamiliar, unfriendly surroundings.

He recoiled, lips thinned into a snarl, but this only caused Fontaine to spare a mocking laugh, his grip far tougher than it seems. Jack struggled, but Fontaine used his efforts against him; a few seconds passed, and Jack was pinned against a cold floor with a heavy, warm weight straddling his hips.

"Not talking to me, huh?" Fontaine inquired, breath ghosting against the nape of his neck. Jack shivered - as much as he hated himself for it, he hadn't had human contact in little under a year, and the weight pinning down his hips was familiar yet so damn foreign.

Fontaine noticed his reaction.

Jack still couldn't work out why, but Fontaine froze, one hand still pushing against his wrists, and the other now resting against Jack's neck. He stared down at Jack, though Jack had turned his head so he didn't have to deal with the humiliation of witnessing Fontaine's arrogant smugness. 

"Well, that's unexpected." Fontaine mused. Almost experimentally, he rolled his hips against Jack's, and Jack exhaled sharply, refusing to make a noise, feeling heat rapidly rise to his face. Fontaine continued his movements, and Jack continued to look away from him.

Each bitten-off moan and strangled gasp seemed to spur Fontaine on, and a pressure was slowly building, arousal heavily weighing down his stomach and clouding his judgement.

"You like this, don't you?" Fontaine whispered, his hand slowly flexing against his neck, enough for Jack to feel the slight pressure but not enough to cut his breath off. Jack refused to answer, so Fontaine tilted his face so that he was looking at him.

There was no arrogance, or amusement, only mild interest. Whilst maintaining eye contact, Fontaine rocked forward against Jack's hardening cock, and Jack could see Fontaine's pupils darken at his small whine.

"Please-" Jack gasped, before biting sharply down on his lip, hips moving against his will. Fontaine increased the pressure against his neck for a second, before relaxing. To his humiliation, this did nothing to stop his arousal.

"Please?" Fontaine repeated, almost mockingly. Jack gritted his teeth, tilting his head upwards so he didn't have to look at Fontaine's dark eyes or the amused quirk to his lips. "Fucking hell, I never guessed that you'd _beg_ for this."

Jack stilled, though his body betrayed him. Fontaine, unfortunately, was looking for a verbal response, and he pressed down heavily against Jack's hips. 

Jack moaned, loud and wanton.

The pressure increased slowly, the circular movements driving to the point where Jack was almost lost in a haze of heady lust, breathing in his scent - of smoke, sandalwood and something else. Jack was so _close_ , his muscles tensed, and he began to return the movements, grinding in tandem with Fontaine until his hips were pressed down and the sweet friction halted.

Jack bit back a whine, breath rapid. He felt too hot, as though there was electricity in his blood.

"Ask to come." Fontaine ordered, almost in a growl, yet Jack's pride kicked up, briefly cutting through the hot lust clouding his thoughts like a steel knife. He breathed in shakily, trying to regroup and stop his interest, stop the instinct to plead for Fontaine to continue.

He couldn't stop the animalistic part in his mind, the part demanding that he does  _something_ to ease the tension. He couldn't stop his words, his face growing warm in indignant embarrassment. " _Please_ , let me come, I can't-"

"Say my name."

" _Fontaine_ , please-" Jack moaned, chest heavy and face flushed with shame. Fontaine's breath hitched, but whether this was from Jack following his command or his covert embarrassment, he couldn't tell. The friction returned, with Jack making small whines and moans.

"So fucking good, you're so good for me." Fontaine muttered, voice low and rough. The sound of this sent sparks through Jack, and he shivered, trying to press himself closer to Fontaine. This only earned a sharp bite against Jack's jugular, and for a second, Jack forgot how to breathe.

All at once, everything became  _too_   _much;_  the warm lips pressed against his neck, the friction against his cock, the heady scent, the fact that it was Fontaine against him. the man who protected him, who betrayed him, who was pressing gentle kisses against Jack's neck, whispering reassurances, of how  _good_ Jack was, of how Jack was _his_. Jack would respond with gasps and moans, and a white fog fell in his mind, and he was coming harder than he could remember.

For what felt like hours, he couldn't think, focusing on the waves of pleasure. Fontaine seemed to have the same idea and he came with a moan, breathing against Jack's neck, chests pressed flush.

Then, Fontaine recovered.

Jack was starting to get his mind back from the lust, and this meant that shame and guilt were beginning to gnaw at his stomach. Almost dismissively, Fontaine stood up, not even sparing Jack a cool glance.

"I fucking hate you." Jack said quietly, feeling so damn disgusted with himself he felt on the edge of tears. Fontaine froze from his exit, back straight, but still, he didn't spare Jack a glance.

"I know."

With that, Jack was left with nothing but regret and silence.

 

 

The pattern was established. 

Jack would spend the day looking for an escape, restless and impulsive, and occasionally attempt one - on those days, Fontaine would act rougher, more possessive, and Jack hated how this made his heart hammer in anticipation, or his cock twitch. The apartment he was kept inside of was damn near inescapable.

After a long period of solitude, broken up by Fontaine's followers trailing in and out to restock cupboards when they thought thought he was sleeping, Jack would be visited by Fontaine.

He dreaded and longed for these visits in equal measure; at the start, Fontaine would demand complete obedience. Naturally, Jack would bristle against this, because total, blind submission wasn't in his nature.

If Fontaine was feeling particularly cruel, he would mimick the voice of Atlas, which would draw rage from Jack and nothing else. For seemingly no other reason than tormenting Jack, he would use the three words - _would you kindly_ \- despite knowing that it didn't work. Jack supposed it was a reminder of his lack of control, underlined by how a part of his mind still demanded that he do so.

Regardless of Fontaine's approach, it would end like this; Fontaine driving Jack into submission by light, teasing touches, waiting for Jack to consent before taking it any further. Fontaine seemed to favor sucking bruises onto his neck, leaving a mark that would stay for days after. Sometimes, Fontaine brought cuffs - ones that would bite painfully into Jack's skin, yet he always knew he was a bit of a masochist. Fontaine knew this, too.

Then, they would fuck. Or, more accurately, Jack would be fucked. Surprisingly, he would be far more gentle with Jack, gentler than he had any right to be. It would hurt, since this was something Jack doubted he would ever get used to, but pain would quickly subside into complete pleasure.

After, Fontaine would whisper praises in between pressing soft kisses against his jaw. The afterglow turned Fontaine into a different man, and Jack needed these moments of softness dividing the cruelty.

Because Fontaine could be cruel.

If Jack tried to make particularly ambitious escapes, he would be left in solitude for days - sometimes, a week - and the silence was enough to drive him far more insane than any splicer could. Fontaine would occasionally grow bored of whatever the hell he was doing and wind up giving Jack a wrench and placing him in a room with several hostile splicers, seemingly for no other reason but his amusement. 

The only line that Fontaine would never cross is taking Jack against his will. If Jack said ' _no'_ (and he rarely did, which said far more about him than he wanted to look into), Fontaine would stop and comply.

In short, Fontaine was fucking confusing.

Jack couldn't fully dissociate him from Atlas; the man who was kind, protective, and understanding. It would cause mixed feelings in him - equal parts revulsion and affection. Worse yet, Fontaine would periodically switch between his better moods and his decisively less positive ones, sometimes so quickly it felt like Jack had whiplash. This did not help him reach a conclusion.

Fontaine rarely tried to hold a conversation with Jack. He didn't seem interested in Jack as a person, which never failed to make Jack wonder if there was someone else - a splicer under his command, or someone that controlled a section of Rapture. This grated his nerves for reasons beyond Jack - if anything, the less he has to see of Fontaine, the better - yet the mere idea of Fontaine being with someone else caused his chest to tighten.

On this particular night, Fontaine was talkative - this was rare, unusual, and meant that he was in a good mood. He pressed his lips softly against Jack's jaw, one hand mapping out his chest, the other grasping Jack's hand. For a second, the softness made Jack forget, made him tilt his face so that Fontaine had more access.

"I want you to ride me." Fontaine muttered against his neck. Jack shivered, pressing his back closer to Fontaine's chest. "Alright with you, kid?"

"Yeah." Jack said, his voice adapting a breathy quality. Fontaine hummed in approval, fingers sliding by his waistband and onto sensitive skin.

Jack was undressed slowly, with every inch of his skin touched and kissed. He felt dizzy, the lust affecting him stronger than he could ever remember. He felt like he was holding onto his balance, barely staying upright under Fontaine's attention.

He was rarely able to take his time, to enjoy his touch and not think of how he was being used, of how replaceable he was to Fontaine. Right now, replaceable was the last word Jack could think of - he felt fucking _worshipped_.

"So pretty..." Fontaine murmured against skin, hands trailing up and down his chest, then lower, and when it wrapped around his cock, he let out a shaky exhale, closing his eyes. "You're going to be good for me, aren't you? You're going to fuck yourself on my cock, scream my name."

"Yes." Jack agreed, his breath quick and heart rapid. "Fuck, Fontaine-"

"Come on, kid, let's go somewhere more comfortable." The hand against Jack's cock shifted up and down a few times, making Jack feel boneless and completely compliant against any manipulation. Fontaine led him to a bed - Jack tried to ignore the flush rising at memories of previous encounters, though his cock twitched in interest and Fontaine smirked, obviously guessing where his thoughts were.

Suddenly, Jack was unsure. Usually, Fontaine preferred to be completely dominant, and Jack didn't like how much he enjoyed being controlled in that way. Cautiously, he approached Fontaine, hands brushing against his chest. As soon as Jack touched him, he glanced up at Fontaine, as though checking if this was okay.

Fontaine gave no indication of having a negative response, his eyes growing darker as Jack hesitantly slid open the first few buttons of his shirt. Jack couldn't stop the blush from rising to his face, spreading down to his chest, so he preoccupied himself by continuing to undress Fontaine, swallowing thickly at the sight of pale, firm muscle.

Fontaine, however, seemed to grow impatient of Jack's slight anxiety, and he shrugged out of his shirt, before pressing Jack close to his chest and meeting his lips. Jack immediately melted, leaning into the warmth. His senses seemed heightened, and all he could focus on was this - how he felt, pressed against Fontaine, how good Fontaine smelled, how he could hear his own heartbeat hammering.

This was a rare moment of softness, and Jack was going to remember it. Somehow, Fontaine was able to push them back without Jack noticing until he could feel the corners of the bed press against the back of his knees.

Voice rough, Fontaine mused, "There's too many clothes for my liking, kid."

Jack didn't need to be told twice.

 

 

The kindness didn't last. Fontaine didn't stay afterwards, and even though it felt as though there was  _something_ more than meeting a need, he couldn't avoid being reminded of the truth. He was just a warm body, and the usual empty guilt fell as soon as Fontaine left.

He immediately showered, washing off Fontaine to the best of his ability. Jack tried to forget the entire event, because that was all he could do - if he spent too long thinking about how _used_ he felt, he would begin to get resentful. This was counterproductive to his usual past time of planning an escape.

He paced around the small apartment. His footsteps seemed to echo around each room. Regardless of where he went, inspiration wouldn't strike. The door was locked shut, as per usual. No matter how heavily he tried to open it, it wouldn't budge. He had long since run out of Eve, so the only hope he had was eating and exercising regularly.

The day passed. Jack felt the usual anger and frustration claw at his chest as it usually did when Fontaine wasn't there to distract him. It was stupid of him to have gotten caught, so his fate was his own fault.

 

 

Jack could only think of one positive from living in Rapture; he had somehow conditioned himself to defend himself, even when asleep. Which was how, when he felt eyes watching him, he snapped awake, shifting automatically backwards and bringing a hand quickly across his heart.

Naturally, the intruder was Fontaine.

Jack paused, unsure whether to drop his defensive pose or keep it. He regarded Fontaine with a cold, calculating look, before noting the blood across his usually perfect clothing. As if sensing what Jack was thinking, Fontaine gruffly muttered, "It isn't mine."

Realistically, Jack shouldn't feel a tiny bit of relief from this. He still does, though, and promptly wishes that he had never set foot in this hellhole of a city. It was a miracle he hadn't somehow been killed by acting this stupid. Rather dimly, he said, "Oh."

"Not one word." Fontaine warned. Before Jack could work out what he had meant, Fontaine had approached the left side of the bed before settling down by Jack's side.

Jack stilled, unsure of how to act, especially when an arm looped around his waist, securing him in place. Instead of lashing out, he forced himself to relax, willing his muscles to ease. Fontaine gave a hum of approval in response.

For the first time, Fontaine stayed.

**Author's Note:**

> First ever smut. I miss the days I was scandalized by swear words on fanfic...
> 
> I'm going to hell for this but at least I'm dragging some people with me.


End file.
